


drowning

by Marianne_Dashwood



Series: what love seeks [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Claustrophobia, Drowning, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Post-Apocalypse, The Buried - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marianne_Dashwood/pseuds/Marianne_Dashwood
Summary: There is a river they have to cross, on their journey to stop the apocolypse. It doesn't like them very much.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: what love seeks [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537819
Comments: 22
Kudos: 149





	drowning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Relieved Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/539740) by Cuttooth. 



> Inspired by cuttooth's small Buried drabble (here: https://cuttoothed.tumblr.com/post/189425448405/mm-mmm-mm-how-about-jm-in-the-rain-relieved-kiss), I really, really wanted to do post-apocolypse boyfriends and the Buried, whilst trying to make it different from the original drabble (though I think you can definetely see the similarities) - might end up doing a bunch of these for all the different fears in the post-apocolypse world!
> 
> Go check out more of their work (It's awesome!) and a big thank you to everyone in The Magnus Writer's discord for being so kind and encouraging (yall are amazing!)

“Vast or Buried, do you think?” Jon asks, as they stare across the swollen river in front of them. 

“Buried.” Martin replies. “It’s not big enough.”

“But it’s certainly deep enough.” Jon sighs, “How long will it take for us to detour around?”

Martin pulls out the map, examines their route. “Seeing that there was supposed a bridge here… The next crossing would be half a days walk away, and there’s no guarantee we’ll actually be able to get over it.”

“There’s still part of the bridge visible.” Jon says, pointing. “If we follow that, we won’t actually have to swim through it. It shouldn’t be too deep.”

“Jon…” 

"I know, I know, it’s the Buried.”

“We can try and find another way around, Jon.”

He shakes his head. “The quicker we get to London, the better.” He squeezes Martin’s hand. “Hold on, and we’ll be fine.”

“Wait.” Martin says, dropping his rucksack and pulling out a length of rope that he had picked up in a B&Q near York. “Tie this around your waist.”

When they are both secured to the other, Martin gives Jon’s hand another squeeze. He knows that out of everything, Jon has always fared the worst up against the Buried. 

“Ready?” He asks, and Jon nods. 

The water is freezing, numbing his legs the moment he steps into it. It is a lot stronger than either of them expected, too, rushing past Martin’s feet in a way that would threaten to pull him over if he wasn’t holding tight to Jon’s hand. 

Carefully, he feels out the way in front of him - what he steps on, appears to be the solid stone of the drowned bridge, but it isn’t visible under the dirty brown water of the river. 

It gets a little deeper, as he steps forward, Jon following close behind. 

They’re halfway across the bridge, and the water is up to their ankles, and it is icy, so cold that Martin feels like his feet will never get warm. They’re so numb, at first Martin doesn’t feel the pressure pushing down on his ankles and shins, making it harder with every step to wade through the water, until it is more like wading through concrete than water.

Jon is still holding tight, but their hands are being splashed with water that feels more like thick mud, and Martin doesn’t dare readjust his grip, just in case letting go, even for a moment, sweeps Jon away from him. 

The water laps hungry at his waist, nipping and biting into the rope tied there, and Martin can feel Jon shaking. 

“It’s not far, Jon.” He says. “We’re nearly there.”

“Martin…” Jon says, but his voice sounds wrong; like he is wheezing for breath. Martin turns, tightening his grip on Jon instinctively. 

Jon is heaving, gasping for air, waist deep in the water and Martin can’t tell if this is a panic attack or an effect of the Buried or both, and he has to get Jon out of here  _ right now _ .

“I’m here, Jon, come on, we’re so close -”

“Can’t you hear it?” Jon says, and his eyes have a dazed look to them that Martin is certain isn’t from a panic attack. “It’s… Martin, I can’t…”

“Jon, come on!” Martin pulls, but whatever traction they had before has been lost, as Jon stands in the middle of the raging river, looking ready to sink. 

The worst part is, Jon isn’t wrong. Martin can hear it, now. Every ripple is an open mouth, the splashes are cruel laugher. Each is saying _ Sink, sink, won’t it be nicer, won’t it be easier to just float forever, sink together, join  _ **_us,_ **

Jon sinks to his knees, his grip on Martin slipping, his entire body etched with exhaustion, with hopelessness, with despair.

“No!” Martin shouts. “Don’t listen, Jon, please, come on!”

That, at least seems to trigger something in Jon, and he nods with such terrible weariness that spreads to his body as he tries to stand and slips instead, slumping to his knees in defeat. He looks up, blinks some of the hazy look from his eyes, and his eyes focus on Martin, and there is fear there now, fear and exhaustion in equal measure.

“Martin,” Jon says, less dazed than before, shaking his head and small drops of mud and water hit the river and are swept away. “Martin, there’s something in the-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as polluted, dripping hands snap up from the water like jaws and pull him into the depths. 

“Jon!” Martin cries, and doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t wait for the rope to pull taut, and he dives into the water.

The impact knocks the air from his lungs, and precious oxygen escapes him as that pressure around his legs now surrounds him, pushing, crushing, trapping him in this lightless place where no one will find him.

_ Jon _ , he thinks, and fumbles for the rope at his waist. He feels what are almost fingers, pulling, trying to untie it, but he holds it fast, and swims against the buffeting current, swims down, following a rope that seems to be so much longer than it was. 

_ Join us. _ The river whispers in swirling streams around his ears, the pressure making it very hard for him to think.  _ Join your beloved in the depths. It’s safe here.  _

The voices sounds like Jon, a little. A hand brushes his face, and he can’t see much in the darkness of the dirty water, but opening his eyes, he thinks he sees an outline of someone. Or something, before they are pulled away by the current. Their hand was warm. The river is so cold. The rope makes his hands, already numb from cold, hurt, and his lungs are burning. 

_ Martin…  _ The water sings to him in a voice that sounds like Jon’s, drawing him down deeper into the depths.  _ Come to me, Martin.  _

He wants to let go. He wants the pressure to stop. He wants to be warm again. Martin doesn’t quite remember why he’s holding onto this rope in the first place.

Then he, quite literally, comes to the end of the rope, and there is something, warm and lifeless and decidedly not water hanging on the other end and Martin’s lungs are screaming, the pressure is unbearable, but it’s Jon, it’s  _ Jon,  _ and Martin grabs hold of his sodden clothes and kicks upwards. 

He can feel the hands on him, the ghosts of all who have been condemned to this river, and it wants to drag him down as much as he wants to drag Jon upwards. 

Jon is a weight behind him, pulling him back down by virtue of simply drifting, hair unravelled and floating around his head like a halo, seaweed and reeds wrapped around his wrists and ankles like chains, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes closed, and god, god, don’t let Martin have been too late,  _ please.  _

He breaks the surface and feels something  _ snap _ , and he grabs Jon under the armpits and pulls him up onto his back, while Martin is gasping and choking for air, Jon is silent and limp in Martin’s arms. 

They’ve lost the bridge, that much is clear. It seems like there is an endless river below them, and the banks of the river are rushing past at too fast a speed for Martin to even grasp where they are. He’s already exhausted, Jon's weight a pressure on him that is already far too similar to the pressure in the depths and he can feel hands, tugging, pulling at his kicking feet, touches so fleeting that he doesn’t even know if they are real or just his paranoia. 

He kicks and kicks and kicks, and his whole body is straining from the effort of it, his arms and legs and heart ache, and when his back hits something wet but solid he almost cries with relief. 

With little dignity, he pushes Jon up the mudbank first, and then crawls on his hands and knees out of the grasping, greedy water, collapsing into the ground as soon as his feet leave the water.

He takes a second to just, breathe, without pressure or hands grabbing him or weight pulling him down, and then his mind catches up with the situation and he scrambles to his knees and frantically shakes Jon’s shoulders.

“Jon!” He yells, the pressure returning as he realises that Jon  _ isn’t breathing. _

“No, no, no, no,” He says, whimpers, and starts tearing at Jon’s soaked coat, his shirt, pulling it back so he can start pumping Jon’s chest with his hands, the first aid coming almost instinctively. “No, no, Jon, you can’t, don’t do this to me, Jon, Jon,  _ please,  _ please don’t do this, breathe, just breathe - ”

He counts thirty, and tips Jon’s chin back, pressing his lips to Jon’s cold mouth and pushing, forcing air into his lungs. 

Jon’s chest rises, falls with Martin’s breath, and goes still as Martin goes back to the chest compressions, silently apologises at the force, and tears fall onto Jon’s face as Martin tries to hold them back and fails, still muttering, “Please, please, please, Jon, please, I can’t do this on my own, please, please come back, you promised to come back.”

He forces another breath into Jon, and it turns into a sob, and Martin cradles Jon’s form, pressing his forehead into Jon’s cold face, dripping with dirty water mixed with tears. Martin rocks on his heels and there is a keening, heartbroken, whine that echoes around him that he only barely realises is his own. 

“Don’t leave me,” He sobs, “Please,  _ please  _ don’t leave me, Jon.”

Where his palm is resting on Jon’s chest, there is a dull pulse of something, and then Jon jerks in Martin’s grip, and Martin barely lets go in time to allow Jon to roll to the side and expel the water in his lungs. He’s still hacking and coughing when Martin wraps his arms around him, as tight as he can without hurting Jon, and they sit there for a moment, curled around each other, as Jon regains his breath and Martin feels Jon’s heartbeat echo in his own chest. 

“M-Martin…” Jon says, finally, shakily, pulling back to press his forehead against Martin’s. 

“You…” Martin says, chokes out through his tears. There are a lot of things he could say.  _ You almost left me. You died. I thought I was alone again.  _

“I love you.” He says, finally. 

“Me too.” Jon replies, his throat raw from coughing and polluted water. “Let’s go get dry.”

And behind them, the river rages. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked that, please leave a comment/kudos!! they feed me!!!


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